


Trice

by midcirclenine



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: DECFANFIC, why is porthos the only one with a fancy tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midcirclenine/pseuds/midcirclenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>collection of responses to the december fanfic challenge. clearly not actually on time, likely not going to be finished, and may skip prompts here and there, soooo. also there will be AUs. ye be warned.</p>
<p>alternately no warnings yet but if that changes then i'll change it. fancy that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ice Skating: What a horrible idea

**Author's Note:**

> ty to [funvee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/funvee/pseuds/funvee) for being the unerring light of 'you can do it' 'i want to read what you wrote' 'you should do this thing' 'jabs do the fanfic challenge' in my writing life.

"No it won't."

"You don't know that."

Porthos looked somewhat dubiously at the expanse of incredibly dangerous material before him and privately thought something poetic and appropriate about the depths of hell being frozen and he didn't think they'd be any fun either. However, he decided not to mention this, given the look on Aramis' face, the fact that d'Artagnan was already without his sword and sliding onto the surface of the pond, and that even Athos hadn't really protested – not much, anyway; he was apparently using a general lack of enthusiasm to voice his opinions instead.

"You'll have fun and you know it," Aramis pressed. "Besides, you'll have to help me keep these two upright – I can't do it all by myself, or we'll all fall over."

Porthos gave a small grunt of agreement. "What a shame that'd be, too."

"If I didn't know better I'd think he was trying to keep you from joining him now." Athos had apparently abandoned pretence and left his hat and sword hanging off the same fence Aramis had left his own on and moved toward the pond as well – right now he was somewhat gingerly stepping onto the ice in the same place d'Artagnan had, who was already sliding back over towards them from the other side. The little shit hadn't even fallen over yet.

Aramis repeats himself. "It'll be _fun_." Porthos decides immediately that he and Aramis have different definitions of that word.

\---------

Athos long ago determined that he and Aramis, while they technically spoke the same language, tended to somehow have rather different understandings on the semantic nature of certain words and phrases. Right now the word _fun_ was being called into question, and he noted with some mild amusement when he turned to look over his shoulder at Porthos, who had yet to move any closer to the lake at all, that he apparently had an ally this time. Porthos tended to be a bit more open-minded, happy to take multiple definitions for any one thing, in fact, and while Athos admired him the ability it had been the cause of many two-against-one situations.

And one might think that now with an apparent fourth member things would be more even, but no, life didn't deign to pattern itself after rationale like that, and now more often than not it was more like three-against-one, which Athos decided somewhat pettily was just unfair. 

D'Artagnan finally grew somewhat overenthusiastic and slipped to the surface of the ice with an " _Oof!_ " and Athos heard the sound of laughter from multiple angles. Glancing over, he saw him attempting to get to his feet again with all the grace of a newborn foal, made no easier by Aramis' movement towards him and d'Artagnan's subsequent struggle to right himself before he could be pushed over again. (Because, honestly, what else would Aramis be moving towards him for with _that_ look on his face?) Athos took their distraction as an open opportunity to step onto the ice himself without worry of interference.

This proved to be a good thing in particular when his first step saw his foot slide out from under him and he slipped to fall on his side. Definitely different definitions.

"See now that's two of you who've fallen in the last ten seconds, and I'm already bruised enough as it is."

"Porthos, my friend, you simply just don't know how to enjoy yourself."

So that was two words Aramis apparently didn't know how to use properly. Athos started the mental tally almost without thinking. Arguably, of course, _fun_ and _enjoy_ were synonyms and thus feel into the same category, but. 

"I don't think you know what that word actually means," Porthos grumbled back, alternating between glaring at the ice and glaring at d'Artagnan, who apparently after falling the first time seemed to have picked up sliding around on the frozen pond as easily as he picked up most other things. Well, some other things. Athos mumbled "Someone finally says it," more to himself than anything, but caught Porthos' look of solidarity just the same. At this point, Athos was a bit better, deciding that Aramis hadn't fallen over yet and that definitely needed to be rectified, seeing as all of this was his fault in the first place. Using Aramis' preoccupation with convincing Porthos to join them, he found his footing and managed to get a little bit of speed. Then, honestly moving vaguely more quietly than really he should have been able to, he skidded over towards Aramis, grabbing him by one of the elbows and swinging the pair of them into an odd sort of paired orbit.

Ultimately it actually made them both fall over, but he decided it was worth it for the sound Aramis had made in the process. He climbed back up to his feet, then offered a hand to Aramis, who initially appeared as though he didn't quite trust this offer until Athos raised an eyebrow at him.

"That," Aramis said, brushing himself off, "was not what I had in mind, even though I applaud the interpretation."

"You're welcome."

Porthos attracted everyone's attention again with a huff, hitching his thumbs in his belt. "Are you lot done playing yet? I'm cold, hungry, and we've still got things to do."

D'Artagnan apparently took this to mean that yes, in fact, they were finished now – or perhaps the novelty of sliding around on frozen water had simply worn off rather quickly, it wasn't as though they didn't have another several weeks of winter to try again anyhow – and began to slide towards the edge of the ice with a muttered, "Now who doesn't know what 'fun' means."


	2. Mistletoe: An Even Worse Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be a Harry Potter AU of them but it wound up being so short that you really can't tell. I'll come back to the idea in another one.

"You're being paranoid."

" _You_ get caught under mistletoe with Ninon de Larroque three times in _two_ days and then come back and tell me that again."

Aramis straightened his tie, promptly pulling the green stripes down in a manner that completely defeated the point of straightening it in the first place in Athos' opinion, before piping up with a cheery, "I'll do my best." Athos was struck by a sudden overwhelming urge to drop him into the lake. Perhaps just whelming, since he didn't actually act on it, which ultimately probably wasn't a bad thing – not the least because while he could be highly creative with such things on occasion, Aramis tended to be fairly creative more often. Plus, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, that would just make Aramis wet, and lord only knew the kind of reactions that would result in. Aramis could make almost anything look good, and he knew it, and he didn't mind doing so, and altogether it was – 

Well actually it was kind of nice, since it meant he tended to suck up most of the attention present in a room at any given time. Athos could appreciate that, and blend into the background while Aramis preened.

"Paranoiiiiid," Aramis sing-songed when he sort of glanced around a corner before actually turning it, and this time Athos actually did swing his books at him.


	3. Watching Holiday Specials: And Fighting About It

"Have you ever noticed that we never have any _new_ ones though?"

"There's the Tim Allen one," Porthos offered from somewhere off to Athos' right. Technically this entire conversation was happening somewhere off to his right, since Aramis was sandwiched in the middle (as usual). Athos had been in that odd phase where you're not asleep but you can't really seem to focus on anything and you keep blinking longer than you mean to, but the sounds of their conversation were fading back into his awareness. He wasn't really sure how long they'd been talking by now, but he was happy for it – he didn't really want to fall asleep watching Christmas cartoons, it tended to result in odd dreams.

"No, I mean – the cartoons. All these old claymation ones, they made these when our parents were kids."

Athos had long ago decided that his parents had never been children, because there was just no other way that anyone who had would have had so little idea about what it had been like later on when faced with someone else who was.

What?

Maybe he was still sort of asleep. He missed another part of the conversation trying to figure out his own thought process.

"That one doesn't count either."

"I thought you wanted classics!"

"I'm talking about the cartoons!"

"No, you're changin' the rules is what you're doin'."

On the screen, Santa Claus issued Rudolph the task of saving happiness by finding the baby new year, and he wondered why this special always aired a week and a half before Christmas instead of in the interim between the two holidays like it ought to.

"No, I _said_ cartoons earlier, I _started_ with that." Athos felt a shift in the cushions and figured that Aramis had shifted to sit up a bit straighter, since it felt like he was dipping more towards the middle now. Trust Aramis to actually feel sort of annoyed about holiday specials. For how long had this conversation actually been happening?

He finally spoke up when he heard what sounded like one of them starting to take a deeper breath in before starting some sort of long explanation for what he assumed was part of the conversation that had happened before he'd remembered they were even there.

"Polar Express."

It was funny how much he could discern by the way the couch moved and sheer familiarity. Without even moving from where he was slumped into the corner of the couch or lifting his head from the pillow he'd commandeered earlier when this mandatory marathon of specials was first announced – in many ways Athos both enjoyed and almost viscerally hated DVR technology – he knew both of them had shifted to look at him.

"What?"

"It's a cartoon. It came out recently. Or something close to that – it's closer to us than it is to these specials. It comes on every year. If I missed criteria between any of those it's because I've only been paying attention by accident."

"Liar," Porthos replied before some sort of short conference between himself and Aramis took place as to the legitimacy of this new contender. On screen, the baby new year crawled around an island-chain-timeline in a top hat and he let himself tune back out of the conversation again, revising his opinion on sleeping while these things were on, because honestly.

There was no way his dreams would be any stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in maybe half an hour since [funvee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/funvee/pseuds/funvee) felt bad and I was fairly sure she'd go to sleep before I could finish.


	4. Snowball Fight: Nnnnnot Really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took the idea of a 'snowball fight' extraordinarily loosely, okay

"Don't you dare."

Aramis' face instantly transforms from an expression of anticipatory glee into cherubic innocence. The fact that his hand is still holding a snowball and his arm is still about eighty-three percent of the way into the pull-back for a throw forward _does_ work a fair ways against him in terms of the latter, but Aramis is and always has been the resilient and determined sort, so he doesn't even let it fall to his side. He does at least acknowledge he's been caught by pausing, though. Real pal, that guy.

"You get your skinny backside over here and help me," Porthos says, grabbing two more bags and hefting them up to make his way inside.

"How dare you." Porthos mouths the following words along with him as he passes him on the walkway. "My backside is _not_ skinny."

After that, the groceries make it inside without too much more hassle, even though Porthos has heard more adjectives by the end of the whole event than he'd probably have liked to.

\--------- 

The day doesn't _really_ begin for him until Porthos decides he needs an ice cube down the back of his shirt and the noise that he emits is nearly inhuman. Up until that point he had been honestly mostly awake, maybe a good eight out of ten. Aramis didn't have a problem with mornings too often, and it had earned him several pillows in the face or messes from pillows that were supposed to hit him in the face knocking things over instead when his impeccable reflexes were just too good.

But damn if that ice cube doesn't sing and shoot him up to maybe, he doesn't know, like, a fucking _fifteen_ out of ten in about half a second. And it got stuck in his shirt for a few seconds really stupid reasons – who accidentally tucks in the back of their shirt in their sleep? Or maybe it happened on the day's first trip to the loo – but got it out in relatively quick order. It was then of course a potential hazard that had to be spotted and retrieved from the floor lest anyone stick already-chilly feet onto literally-can't-be-more-ice-cold-than ice and further damage was made in their friendship; perhaps even a wedge that could not be put back together. You never know with these things sometimes, how far you can push someone.

Aramis, once he's gotten himself back to rights, turns to find Porthos, already dressed and finishing up a cup of coffee, and the litany of reasons why That Should Never Have Been Done die fairly efficiently. Porthos shouldn't be able to do that sort of smile this early in the morning, really. That easy sort of one that crinkles the eyes and looks soft, which is still so funny because Porthos actually just totally works for that whole 'big teddy bear' idea of certain people. And his face is still a little puffy from sleep, but he's clearly pleased with himself, raising his eyebrows a little bit at Aramis over the rim of his coffee cup as he takes a sip of it, because at this point Aramis has mostly just been looking at him for a few seconds without reacting.

Doubly weird because he was definitely _totally_ going to react to that.

Aramis squints, suddenly somewhat suspicious. "Did you do that now on purpose?"

Porthos laughs. "Well I didn't do it on accident."

"That is not what I meant and you know it."

"No, I'm afraid I don't know it; what do you mean then?" Sip.

"You did! You totally did, you total bastard."

"I've got to get ready for work, an' if I'm not mistaken, you do too, so." With that, Porthos starts back towards the bedroom, shooing Aramis along in front of him. Aramis goes along with this – for reasons even he isn't totally sure of – until he realises abruptly, "Wait, I haven't got my–"

"You wouldn't get up at first, you don't have time. Hence..."

"I hate you."

"I'm _pretty_ sure I've got some kind of bruise on my collarbone that says otherwise..."

"Hate sex. It's totally a thing."

"I don't think you can decide retroactively that it w-"

"Yes you can." By this point Aramis is in the closest, basically, and pulling a shirt over his head, pjyama bottoms shucked and trousers on, even if they weren't buttoned or zipped yet. Porthos thought it was a good look, especially the few moments Aramis' head is stuck in with his arms still up working through the sleeves. The voice coming from inside the jumper sounds so certain ("You definitely can."), with just a dash enough of prim that Porthos purses his lips a little bit to keep himself from any form of audible amusement. Instead, he works his shoes on and just decides to go along with it.

\--------- 

"Aramis, I swear to g-"

Too late. Porthos stops to let out a full breath through his nose, because if he lets himself lose any amount of control, he's going to lose all of it, and he is actually rather fond of Aramis and his continued existence on this mortal plane, despite everything.

The laughter he hears coming from roundabout his seven-o-clock is honestly enough for him to drop what he's doing to retaliate, moving to scoop some snow off the closest surface and packing it into a tight ball before turning and throwing it all in one smooth motion. 

In all honesty it would have been a beautiful display of athleticism – it still was, really, but. It would have been better if he'd actually hit Aramis in the face like he'd wanted instead of their taciturn neighbour upside the head. The man stumbles a little bit, and then pauses to look at them both, turning to see who the true target was supposed to have been, and then to the person who had apparently done the throwing. There was a bit of a pause, like he's trying to figure out precisely how he wants to respond to this situation, and then he mostly just moves on, one hand coming up to brush snow out of his hair and off of his collar.

As soon as he's turned back around entirely and has been walking a little ways down the street, Porthos and Aramis both turn back to each other at the same time, each pointing at the other, because clearly it was their fault.

\--------- 

"It's cheating to tell me you're about to do something that's gonna take time and then come outside and hit me with a snowball when I think you're inside doing that."

Porthos glances up from what he's doing. "What're you on about? I 'aven't been outside."

"Hah hah, funny," Aramis says, very clearly shaking snow out of his hair. _Somebody_ hit him, that was clear. "If you're gonna change the rules like that then you can't get mad when I do the tarp thing."

"I will abso _lute_ ly get mad whenever you do the tarp thing, the tarp thing is the worst thing an' you're not allowed to do it. I've been in here the whole time."

Porthos' recent whereabouts are alternately casually and sceptically discussed for the next half hour or so off and on, until the doorbell rings. Porthos has to admit his interest is piqued when Aramis comes almost _bouncing_ back into the kitchen announcing that it's for him.

Interest absolutely plummets when he sees it's the neighbour he beaned in the head with a snowball several days prior. Something to that effect must show on his face, because the man looks faintly amused for a moment before clearing his throat a little and glancing down at what Porthos has just now noticed he's carrying.

"I had the misfortune to make a similar error in aim recently, and... Having observed a handful of your particular version of ongoing winter war, I assumed it might be better all around to just come and out myself." Their neighbour pauses for a moment, definitely thinking about something, before continuing. "Amusing though that doubtlessly would have been."

Aramis has started yelling that Porthos needs to come back, what are these yellow things, he doesn't know what to do with whatever's in this pan but it hurts to look at, and Porthos knows these are absolutely all utter, blatant lies and continues to ignore him.

"Anyway," the man continues. "Normally I think you're supposed to bring something baked, but if I did that I'd have to apologise just for that as well, so. Next best thing I suppose." On the whole Porthos feels like he's starting to understand the reason for the previous taciturn behaviour. He offers his hand for a shake and introduces himself, which sort of makes the other man do something vaguely peculiar with his face for half a moment before he apologises and returns both the handshake and the introduction in kind.

And, granted, it's not _quite_ the right seasoning on the chicken to really match like you'd want with a Merlot, but when Athos offers to go get a different bottle after being told what they're actually cooking, he's more or less just pushed back down into the chair and then the conversation continues on like nothing happened.

("How _did_ you mix us up, though?")


	5. Overly Dressed For the Weather: The Inversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also very ambiguously meant to be in the HP AU setting. Also taking the idea of the prompt as more of an almost required ingredient in Iron Chef than anything else.

"This isn't Christmas."

Normally they all stayed at school for the Christmas break, all for their own different reasons. Athos had heard the reasons the other two said were the cause, but he'd never really been positive that they were all that were factoring into the decision. He vaguely suspected that part of it was because he always decided to stay through any holiday break, but all three of them were aware how well actually saying that aloud would turn out. It was better unspoken anyway – words all too often either marred or just sort of... They changed things. He likes certain things to be clear, precise, either this or that. Others, he's learned gradually exist better in more nebulous fashion. If you show a picture to five different people and then have them each describe it to someone who's never seen that picture, you've separated them from it, and moreover you've changed their idea of the thing before they even get to experience it themselves.

Sometimes requiring a clear cut definition purely for your own peace of mind is just selfish, really.

However, in this case, he probably would have preferred it. _Normally_ they all stayed, but this year Aramis' family had finally succeeded in getting them all to come visit for the holiday break instead. Athos suspected the rather fair argument that they hadn't seen him at Christmas for almost five years now had a lot to do with it. The howler Aramis had gotten that then actually turned and addressed himself and Porthos by name before bursting into flame had also been fairly persuasive.

What hadn't been as clear was that for part of the visit apparently they would be visiting _the rest_ of Aramis' family, who lived in a fairly different climate, which neither he nor Porthos had apparently adequately packed for. Aramis had mentioned this as a possibility, but had, in true Aramis fashion, then gone on a tangent about some sort of dessert he was looking forward to and about how the babies were just going to love Porthos and then with a smile disappeared into the Slytherin common room without actually answering any of the questions that had followed this vaguely surprising addition.

"What are you talking about – this is very Christmas! Look!"

"Aramis, wav– stop that, waving tinsel in my face is not going to actually do anything except make me hit you with something."

"You can't hit me here, my entire family is here, my team is the biggest."

"Actually," Porthos said, coming into the conversation from whatever game he'd been playing on the floor in the other room with most of the smaller ones, "We've both got permission from two sisters, an aunt, an' every single nephew to – this is a quote – 'hit him if he needs it'."

Athos hadn't had to practice his Spanish for several years now, so he couldn't totally follow the conversation that started after that, but that almost made it better. Porthos grinned, grabbed a cookie, and wandered back off to mingle or socialise or whatever it was that you were supposed to do at gatherings like this. It was an odd feeling to watch a house full of people all interacting, enjoying each other's company, watching how easy it all appeared to be, and just sort of... Thinking about it.

He didn't have too long to get into the filigree and dissection of the whole social construct before someone interrupted him. "You spend too much time in your head. Not enough talking." Not that he minded. Turning to look, he found that one of several cousins he'd been introduced to at some point, he was fairly certain, had wandered over to strike up a conversation for reasons he couldn't really pinpoint. When his response wasn't apparently quick enough – or perhaps it was just a reaction to the look on his face, who knew – she continued on.

"I like your shirt."

Something about that seemed off but he couldn't pinpoint it until the knee-jerk reaction to look down at which shirt this actually was had been fulfilled. When Athos looked back over to her she was smiling a little, playful. Aramises all over the place, here. "You wear my brother's clothes better than he does."

"Your cousin makes a fairly poor event coordinator."

"Mmm, yes, I heard." She turned to spot the character in question – Athos couldn't tell from here if the conversation he was currently embroiled in was still on the same topic as before or if they'd moved on since – and then turned back and handed him one of the little desserts she had on a napkin without really giving him the option to say no. It was more or less either accept it or let it fall into his lap. "He is our special one, more often than not."

A lot of things about Aramis' friendship with the two of them were clarifying themselves the longer they were here – Athos could see different facets of it standing out and fading back into conversations here and there, mannerisms and facial expressions and just, that general sense of _life_ it was difficult not to feel around him. It wasn't exactly the same, the nebulous edges and boundaries of it still preserved, but maybe some of the mist from the mystery cleared away. Nebulous sounds better when it's applied to clouds instead of fog anyway, and yes, those are the same, but he's having a rare moment of poeticism – it's part of letting things go.

(This was maybe a tart? Or a little pie; he'd always been a little unclear as to the difference, no matter how many times Serge told him. Either way it was tasty.)

"I'm sorry he did not warn you about the weather. Your friend was lucky César came. Personally I think you did better though."

(The little tart was even tastier when you could use it to delay your reply by the necessary seconds to not look like an idiot when you did.)

"Repayment for all the times he's apparently 'frozen to death' with us, I suppose."

It was nice, actually. It was hotter than he'd ever actually associated with Christmas himself, but then he was more accustomed to Christmas being a rather cold holiday in more ways than one anyway. It's amazing how a house full of people here felt so wildly different than a house full of people back home – here it was warm and smelled like anise, conversations coming in and out of focus and people sneaking bits of a supper that was at this rate likely to be half-gone before it was finished. Elsewhere it was more chilly, almost sharp, and tended to remind you of kindling more than anything else, as though it could be disrupted and far too far suddenly in the other direction if you weren't careful.

The tinsel wasn't particularly convincing, but there were other things that worked pretty well instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Hah I tend to leave things too ill-defined, as a good friend has pointed out. The idea was that Aramis totally didn't tell them how hot it would be and their stuff was all sweaters and such, so family members loaned shirts to them, and they're all like 15/16 so they're prob not the same size, hence not just borrowing Aramis'. It might have worked better in my head than in practice. The cousin is Aramis' cousin talking about her brother (also Aramis' cousin), so, that's also why there's a difference in wording there. I can get caught up in the idea of things and skimp on the execution - always lost points for not showing my work in school.


	6. Planning Family Dinner: The Car Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure why putting aramis and athos in the car together worked so well, but it made for about five pages of mostly-dialogue based inanity, because it's frankly unrealistic to assume that the three of them would have a linear, single conversation and just way more fun to have them have like two and a half at the same time. so.

"Knock knock."

"No."

"Knock knock."

"No, Aramis."

Now it was pointed. " _Knock knock._ "

Athos paused what he was doing even if he refused to actually look at Aramis, because he didn't need that kind of validation before ten in the morning, you had to space that sort of thing out over the course of the day and starting this early could just lead to trouble by suppertime. However, it was already apparent that this was probably going to either continue until one of them ran out of patience – which tended to be Athos, but this was offset rather drastically sometimes by Aramis' sheer ability to basically... What was that Christmas movie they'd just watched the other day, with the guy in the elevator who had pushed all the buttons. Aramis was the guy in the elevator who pushed all the buttons. This tended to offset Athos' reserves fairly efficiently.

Aramis didn't say anything in this pause, but it wasn't as though that was necessary – Athos could practically _hear_ the man vibrating from here.

"Who's there."

"Everyone I potentially invited to a party Saturday evening."

The please-don't-hit-me smile already in place on Aramis' face when he did turn and look at him in no amount of mild surprise was almost blinding and could potentially have powered either their house for maybe nine weeks, or a primary school for three. It was almost inhuman.

Athos continued the 'joke' in a tone that could have probably ground up a small playground, which was sad, considering they'd just gotten free power for three weeks. "Everyone you potentially invited to a party Saturday evening _who_."

The reason he was being told this 'joke' from eight feet away became more evident when Aramis basically threw one of the small notepads Porthos had brought home from work at him and hopped back out the doorway. Athos mostly caught it, sort of juggled it, and then read it in silence before shouting back his reply. It wasn't his best work, but it was succinct, at least.

"That is a really shitty punchline, Aramis!"

\--------- 

"We need what?"

Porthos sounded about as confused about the question as Athos felt about why he was even in the car.

"More plates."

"Why do we need more plates?"

"We only have five."

"We had six until last week."

"Athos broke it."

The mild scoff came through over the call oddly clearly considering the way this mobile tended to handle being put on speaker.

"I did, actually." Pause. "It was dark."

"Am I on speaker?"

"Porthos," Aramis interrupted. "Plates."

"Why's five not enough, an' why didn't you turn on a light?"

Athos knew from experience that he wasn't going to be answering first and delayed even trying, which was the main difference between when he was the one on speaker and when either one of them was. Granted, it made for slightly more boring, linear conversations, but he was an odd person who preferred them that way.

"Disposable ones, not real ones," Aramis replied, blithely ignoring the actual question as he merged into the next lane over for the upcoming turn.

"It wasn't _that_ dark."

"It was dark enough to break a plate but not dark enough to turn on a light, right."

"Is there some sort of dark quotient I've never been told about?"

"Porthos," Aramis interrupted again. _Plates._ "

Porthos ignored this as smoothly as Aramis had ignored his previous question. "Usually it's common sense."

"Aramis called and told you we needed more plates out of the blue and you're more interested in the one I broke last week you hadn't even noticed was missing?"

"Yours is more interestin'."

Athos squinted, feeling faintly insulted for no logical reason he could immediately point to but knowing that some kind of comment was being made, even if technically it was probably about Aramis if there was one at all. "Why?"

"Just is."

This time Athos and Aramis did respond at the same time, with the former saying that wasn't an answer and the latter repeating Porthos' name a third time now.

"Things don't need a reason t' bear interest." Athos already had his mouth open to reply to that when Porthos continued. Sometimes it was mildly annoying to be known so well – he'd realised some time ago that he'd probably just never get accustomed to it. "But if you want one, he does weird stuff like that a lot. You don't break things."

"I broke the remote for the radio last month. And I think the microwave that one time. Also my arm when I was thirteen."

"Wait, _you_ broke the remote?"

He was luckily saved from having to answer that with Aramis' apparently final interruption, and he didn't think he'd ever been happier for his friend's impatience – he'd completely forgotten that they'd all pretty much just chalked that one up to random circumstance and picked up a new one. In actuality it had been _entirely_ his fault through a combination of spilt coffee and a poor understanding of applied heat versus circuit boards, but when the other two had decided between them that it was an old remote anyway he just. Hadn't really seen the point in correcting this idea. He'd simply volunteered to get another one on the way home since he had to stop anyway, because they just needed some more milk. And some rice. For the next time that sort of thing happened, since now he knew using Aramis' hair dryer was a bad idea.

"Porthos!"

"You never answered my question before, I don't think you can get mad at me right now. Aren't you in the car – I thought I heard the blinker."

"We are," Athos replied quickly, totally happy to keep the conversation's focus on Aramis for the time being.

"So why don't you get plates? Disposable ones, for unexplained reasons."

While Aramis made a right-hand turn – this intersection, it was a bit understandable not to talk for that, it was a bit tricky – Athos debated how juvenile it would be to just tell Porthos their third had apparently invited several people over for Saturday evening versus how much more enjoyable it would be to hear Aramis do it himself. For the second time he wondered why he was here. 'Help carrying' had been the given reason, which in the moment had seemed reasonable but now he was thinking that was just in comparison to the whole idea as a collective. It wasn't like Aramis was planning on getting more than he could actually carry.

Right?

He'd turned with mild sudden alarm to actually ask Aramis about this when the man finally answered Porthos' question _far_ more straight-forwardly than Athos had been anticipating. "For the party!"

"The what?"

"Party," Athos helpfully repeated. Aramis seemed to catch on to what he was doing and turned to glare at him. He pretended not to notice. 

"What party?"

"The one on Saturday," Aramis explained.

"Is this a comedy routine you two worked out? What's happening."

"I'm not involved."

"You're in the car with him," said Porthos.

"Actually about that," this time Athos did turn to look at Aramis. "Why _am_ I here with you?"

"Your taste."

Athos might have been offended at the way Porthos laughed if he wasn't busy being confused instead. He only had so much space for emotions at any given point, and the confusion posed by that answer lasted him through Porthos' laughter until they both managed two very different, "What?"s at the same time. The way Porthos continued with, "What taste?" was unnecessary though.

"For the food. I don't mean your aesthetic, god no." Which made three times now he'd felt vaguely insulted, although they were picking up quite rapidly in blatancy. "To match the food. You're definitely the best at matching food."

He blinked. "I don't need to be here for that, I could have done that over the phone."

"Yes but this is way more fun!"

"I still don't see why I have to get the plates," Porthos wisely interrupted, before that could become its own entire little back and forth.

"Because I will definitely forget to get them."

"Athos won't."

"Athos already said he wasn't going to help because he," and Athos was actually somewhat proud of Aramis' ability to replicate his intonation here, "'wasn't the one who accidentally-on-purpose decided to have a party without consulting anyone else in the house.'"

"So why's he with you?"

"I have a bag of three hundred rubber bands and the ability to hit whatever I'm aiming at with alarming accuracy. And I'm hoping that if he's involved in enough of the process he won't have enough time to get anxious about it."

"Right here."

Porthos was ignoring Athos now. "How many people?"

"Maybe twelve?"

"How'd you get twelve people who don't already have plans for the day after tomorrow?"

"A large pool of friends and an award winning smile?"

"So you're gettin' food, I'm gettin' plates an' I assume the necessary complements – " ("Yes, thank you.") "– what else is he gonna do?"

Aramis pulled into the entrance for the store and was looking for a parking spot now as he replied. "I was thinking I'd trick him into music?"

"I'm still here."

"You're gonna look at it first though right?"

Athos glared at the phone with a "Wow," because okay, that was just completely blatant – they weren't even trying anymore.

"Well, since he _apparently_ broke the remote for the radio last month, it's probably not a good idea to leave him alone with another one."

Apparently Aramis didn't actually want his help. That was fine, since he'd said he wasn't going to anyway, despite what Aramis and his three hundred rubber bands had to say about it. He had no idea when Aramis had gotten the thing but at this point Athos was about four shots to the side of the head and two to the face shy of going around to every store within fifteen minutes of the flat and buying all of their rubber bands. Office workers could just do without for a little while.

"Just buy everything you see with prawns on the outside of the box. I'm staying in the car now that I know I've been tricked into coming."

"Do not buy anyth–" Porthos started before Aramis interrupted him. "I'm not going to get anything with prawns on the box. Prawns on boxes is a frightening idea and I'm not sure actually exists, do you just want to sit in the parking lot for an hour while I look for things inside? It's not nice to lie to people who trust you."

The utter ridiculousness of that statement right now coming from Aramis actually made Athos sit there for several seconds with his mouth slightly open before he turned to look at the man. Aramis immediately started talking, "I heard it, I – right after I said it, I heard it, okay, don't."

"Did you really–"

"I said–"

"–just say–"

"–I heard it–"

"–what I think–"

"–can we just–"

"–you said?"

"–go inside?"

There was a short pause before Porthos spoke up again.

"I'll get plates. You two have fun, see you later. 'f one of ya doesn't show up at dinner I'll know who did it, remember that."


End file.
